


snippets of the in-between

by smokesque



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Gen, HQ Brofest, HQ Brofest Rookie Tier, Light Angst, One Shot, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 20:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokesque/pseuds/smokesque
Summary: When Kageyama needs them most, Kindaichi and Akira turn their backs.//they are three parts of a whole, who outgrew one another in a race against time. these are the moments between then and now.





	snippets of the in-between

**Author's Note:**

> i’ll take any excuse i can get to give the kitagawa daiichi boys the love and attention they deserve

Akira’s fingers drip shadows across the bench when he reaches his hand out to catch a drifting leaf. The sun falls across his palm in shades that colour his skin in an orange glow, wrapping starlit halos from wrist to tip. He twists his arm to watch the shadows bend and fold, moulding together and drifting apart in shapes Akira barely recognises. Kindaichi babbles from the seat next to him, chopsticks long since forgotten midway to his mouth. He is finished with his own lunch and is halfway through the bento Akira shoved towards him, having stopped to fill the silence that Akira is happy enough to leave hanging in the air.

“He’s odd, isn’t he? That other first year. You can never tell what he’s thinking.”

Kindaichi lowers his chopsticks to swirl around in the rice, creating messy patterns and haphazard shapes. Akira tells him not to play with his food.

“I wonder what elementary he came from. When d’you think he started volleyball?”

Kindaichi probably isn’t expecting an answer so Akira doesn’t supply one. He watches the sunrays instead, casting broken shafts through the trees so thick with foliage they spill over and litter the ground with the leaves they can’t quite grip onto. The top button of Kindaichi’s gakuran glitters in the light shifting over it. He has polished it so well Akira can almost catch his own reflection.

“And his face, right? Have you _seen_ the way he looks down at us? I was talking to that kid from Class Three and – what was it he said? – ‘it’s like he’s already decided he’s better than us without giving us a chance’.”

A soft breeze disturbs the gentle sunlight, causing it to dance over the brickwork and slip away from its touch on Akira’s hand. Kindaichi’s hair, flopping lazily over his forehead, is blown haywire and elicits a shriek of contempt from its owner. Akira watches the leaves dusting over the school grounds. They race one another to piles in the gutter, leaving empty bricks and unkempt weeds in their wake. Akira wonders how they would feel under the heel of his boot, their rustling silenced by the overwhelming crunch of the action. Maybe he’ll stop to jump in them on the way back to class.

“I like him,” he says decisively. His gaze flits back to meet Kindaichi’s, wide eyes blinking in confusion. They stare at one another for all of two seconds before Kindaichi turns his attention back to the bento in front of him.

He doesn’t respond to the statement. Akira doesn’t expect him to.

+

For as long as Akira has known him, Kindaichi has had birthday parties worthy to be the talk of the school. His mother organises games and competitions and a buffet fit for kings, and the entire year level strives to make an appearance. Naturally, their first year of middle school is cause for the biggest and best celebration to date. Oikawa – their team captain and “honorary third-year parent”, as he himself so eloquently put it – gets wind of the event, so it comes as no surprise when the volleyball club shows up on Kindaichi’s doorstep. Kindaichi blushes as his arms are stuffed full of gifts and hugs, and Akira resigns himself to giving their newest guests the grand tour.

He manages to melt into a corner by the time someone decides to put on some music. It’s not quite a _party_ party – they’re only twelve after all – but the swarm of middle schoolers bopping awkwardly in the centre of the room is enough to leave Akira on edge. Other wallflowers soon blossom around his peripheral vision but he pays them no mind, content on eyeing the first-year libero from Class Three who has currently captured Kindaichi’s attention. That is, until sneakers shuffle clumsily into line with his own and a shoulder brushes against his. Akira flinches, raising his eyes to catch a proper look at the person sidling up next to him. He is probably more surprised than he should be to see piercing blue eyes frowning back at him.

“I’ve never been to a party before,” Kageyama mumbles, his nose scrunching with what appears to be the effort it takes to make light conversation. Akira wishes he didn’t understand that expression so well.

He makes a hum of recognition but doesn’t offer further contribution to the small talk. He isn’t sure whether it’s an attempt to turn Kageyama away or invite him to continue to talk. Kageyama, in his typical Kageyama-style, does not take either of the hints. He bites his lip and taps his foot and squeezes his knuckles into fists and glares and glares and glares.

For the rest of the evening, Kageyama’s harsh gaze lands on anyone who dares to glance their way. Akira presses his lips together over a smile and tries to mimic the frown. His intensity leaves a lot to be desired, but he can’t help thinking Kageyama makes up for it.

 _We make a good team_ , he thinks.

+

Their friendship blooms without any of them really noticing. Akira splits himself between Kindaichi and Kageyama – less like glue and more like string, tugging constantly but never quite enough to tie them together. It starts in club, where it’s easy enough to make excuses for gravitating towards each other. Teamwork and group drills and spiking practice become Akira’s favourite activities.

And they really do make a good team.

It spills into other parts of their life, slowly and steadily, until Kageyama joins them for lunch breaks and study sessions with none of them so much as batting an eye. And soon enough he is as intricate a part of their functionality as either of the other two.

“Your hair looks stupid,” Kageyama says around a mouthful of rice, eyes piercing Kindaichi’s affronted expression from across the table. Akira turns away, trying not to let the snort bubble out of him, but he doesn’t miss the way Kindaichi’s hands fling to his hair. He’s had it in the same style since before Akira and he started elementary together – shaved at the back of his neck with a fringe that sweeps sideways over his forehead. Akira doesn’t care for it personally, but he has no qualms about Kindaichi’s stylistic choices. He doesn’t jump to Kindaichi’s defence though. Kageyama is free to voice his opinions.

“Is it really? Kunimi, what do you think?” Kindaichi’s voice comes out as a squeak, his black hair poking between gaps in his fingers where he is furiously running his hand through it. Akira surveys him with careful eyes. He doesn’t have an opinion on it, but Kindaichi is still staring at him, still searching for something.

“You could always try something new, I guess.”

Kindaichi moans, tipping his head forwards to rest on the table beside his lunch. The corner of Akira’s lips quirk at the sight, before he turns away to watch the open door to the school hallway banging against its hinges in the wind. Kageyama has already lost interest in the conversation, once again focused on nothing but his own meal.

Kindaichi shows up to school the next day with his hair spiked straight up from his forehead. The libero from Class Three dances around him at volleyball practice, swooning over how cool it looks. Kageyama says nothing but Akira watches him set to Kindaichi during spiking practice and he’s sure he catches glimpse of a smile.

+

It falls away in their third year of middle school. They’re at the top of their game by this point, and a force to be reckoned with – even if Akira does say so himself. (Or _think_ so himself. He rarely voices this opinion.) Not to mention, they’re role models to a whole set of first and second years. Akira is convinced there could be no better trio to learn from.

But conceit rarely looks good on anyone and they soon find that the faith they have in themselves blinds them in their strive for success. Spats break out for no reason Akira can think of, other than the three of them finally exceeding their ability to communicate.

Akira naturally gravitates to Kindaichi’s side in their arguments and Kageyama – for all his careful statements and half-smiles over the years – isolates himself once again. They are still teammates on the court, for better or for worse, but Akira stops tutoring Kageyama and Kindaichi stops bringing lunch for them all to share. It slips out of their grasp much the same way as they stumbled upon it – slowly, steadily and without resistance on anyone’s part.

When Kageyama falls into a dangerous rhythm of angry tosses and even angrier reprimands, Kindaichi and Akira cannot find it in themselves to help. The weight they bore upon their three sets of shoulders seems to crush them in ways they could never have expected. It falls away and so do they.

When Kageyama needs them most, Kindaichi and Akira turn their backs.

+

Their first day of high school is full of mess and excitement. Oikawa and Iwaizumi fondly resume their positions as “honorary third-year parents” and Kindaichi and Akira are lucky enough to land on their feet at one of the best schools in the prefecture. Kindaichi fits in easily with the other first-years, with the volleyball club, with the structure that is painstakingly unfamiliar. Akira tails him happily, slipping into conversations and friendship groups seamlessly behind his best friend.

Kindaichi’s mother has already started planning his birthday party and Kindaichi lets slip to their new friends that it’s going to be even bigger than middle school. It’s hardly surprising that he quickly becomes the talk of the first-year population. People smile and wave across corridors and school grounds, and Akira melts into the background the way he knows best to do.

He doesn’t search for piercing blue eyes, or shuffling feet, or a constant frown. Akira is used to being sidelined and he finds comfort in the absence of attention. He doesn’t miss anything about having another wallflower glued to his side.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he instinctively glances around for the hovering presence. He refuses to let nostalgia cramp his emotions when he thinks of Kageyama making new friends – ones who won’t turn their backs at the first sign of danger. Akira knows better than that.

So they’re fine, really, as a duet rather than a trio. It’s the way it always has been and the way – Akira can’t help but assume – it always will be. _Three’s a crowd_ , he thinks and brushes middle school memories nonchalantly from his mind. But Kindaichi still gels his hair into an upright position every morning and Akira still searches for blue on the edge of a crowd.

They are still only part of a whole, no matter the lengths they take to fill in the cracks.

**Author's Note:**

> friendship is wonderful and pure. i hope you appreciate the mess that is these three as much as i do. feel free to hmu any time on [tungle dot com](http://spaceboysatori.tumblr.com/)


End file.
